The Artist and His Muse
by TennisWriter456
Summary: Everything is over. Everything is gone. There is nothing left for him anywhere. There is only the shadow, twisting and turning and unfurling inside of his soul. The shadow that reaches up and grabs his hand, pulls him down into the abyss of insanity where he can rot. There is only the artist, and he is its muse.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everybody! So just as a warning, this story is completely different than anything I've ever written before, and it's EXTREMELY dark. If you're looking for something romantic...or happy...or that induces good feels in any way...don't read this. It is sad and it is scary (at least I think so). Just a little disclaimer. Now if you DO decide to read, enjoy! ^,^**

* * *

1

When people ask me where my home is, I tell them that I don't have one. I suppose I did at one point, during a time in my life that I can hardly remember now, but I never bother mentioning that. If I can't remember anything about it, not the little moments or the big moments or the faces or the voices, it wouldn't be right to claim it as my home. Some nights, when the goddesses are kind enough to bless me with sleep, I dream of it. But the dreams are hazy. I can see faces all around me that seem to be glowing with warmth, calling my name and welcoming me home. Then my eyes open, the voices and the faces disappear into their mangled abyss once more, and I just continue telling people that I have no home.

There are two places, only two, to which I always return. They're the closest places I have to a home, but even now I can't bring myself to call them home. Someone feels happy at home. He feels content, satisfied, as if he's where he was always meant to be. He feels like he could stay there forever and build his life. He can sleep at his home without worrying about nightmares. I have no place like that. Nonetheless, I continue returning. Maybe the memories are calling to my unconscious soul, so they keep hungrily bringing me back.

The two places are the Sacred Grove and Arbiter's Grounds.

I've somehow managed to make sense of my attachment to the grove. It's where my life truly began. It had been sitting for centuries inside of that pedestal, weakly crying out for me, and only when I had graciously drawn it out had it blessed me with its gifts. The Master Sword was my life, _is_ my life, and it sustains the delicate balance of my survival on its bloody blade. The grove carries an atmosphere of beautiful mysticism. If asked, I would not be able to tell anybody how many times I've been there since my first fateful discovery of its existence. The maze, once the source of my everlasting frustration, has now become a source of solace. I can walk through the pathways, wander into the shallow waters, let my feet take me where they will, without the fear of getting lost. The eerie echoes that whistle through the trees are instruments playing the most wonderful symphony, the type of symphony that only ears like mine can appreciate—ears that have already been stained by the bloodcurdling screams of death.

I still can't fully comprehend my desires to return to Arbiter's Grounds. The memories of that place are undoubtedly powerful, but they're not good memories. They're frightening, sad, scarring ones. That desert, with its scorching heat and freezing nights and endless chasms, has nothing to offer me. And yet, I keep going back. When I find myself wandering and questioning the next step in the seemingly pointless journey of my life, it always seems like a good place to start. Maybe it's because, just as the Sacred Grove is where my life began, Arbiter's Grounds is where my life ended. After the mirror shattered...after that soul-crushing sound rang through the air, telling me triumphantly that everything was over, my life ended. I had spent years fighting to do what I had felt was the only thing that I could do—the only thing that had given me purpose. I had spent years fighting against evil. And the mirror, I suppose, represented that fight. It represented the evil that had given me purpose. The nightmares only started after it shattered. In my entire life, I had never had a single nightmare until the day the mirror disappeared from my life. The shadow never appeared in my dreams before then.

So I suppose I do know why I go back there. I go back because I feel obligated to. I go back because it's where I began my descent into insanity.


	2. Chapter 2

2

_present: six months after ganondorf's defeat_

Link loved the sound of the rain against the windowsill. As gently as he could, he lifted her arm from its position across his chest and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The cold of the tile against his bare feet sent chills running up his spine, but he liked it. It felt natural. He stood up, maintaining his quietness for the sake of the sleeping princess, and tiptoed across the room to the window. He sat against it and watched the small, glowing silhouettes of the raindrops press against the glass and slide down, each being replaced by another droplet. They reminded Link of teardrops, and the sound reminded him of the pitter-patter of his heart beating inside of his chest.

The darkness that enshrouded the land outside enthralled him. Each night, he found himself more and more astonished by the sheer beauty of it. It was a different beauty than sunlight, different than twilight. For Link, the twilight had long ago lost the beauty that so many claimed for it. But the night still had so much to offer him; in it, the discoveries of an entirely new world were hiding, waiting for him to eagerly stumble upon them. And there was a strange, calming silence in the night. Even in the midst of the rain, there was silence, and there was something so incredibly lovely about it.

Desires for sleep tugged at the edges of his eyelids, but Link couldn't let himself fall asleep. The shadow would come back if he drifted into slumber, no matter how light. The shadow would be there, laughing with its red eyes and dark face and a voice that sounded too much like his own. The nightmares were enough to keep him awake, and had been for months.

The girl in the bed across the room shifted in her position and pulled the blanket more tightly around her naked body. Link watched her for a few moments, hardly letting himself breathe. He could see her eyelids fluttering in her sleep.

"What kind of dreams are you having, Princess?" he mumbled. "They must be so different from mine, huh?"

Link allowed his legs to drag him away from the windowsill and kneel in front of the bed so that he could look at her face more closely. Her breathing was rhythmic, harmonizing with the continuous droplets of rain, and her body moved ever so slightly with each breath. Link put his icy fingers against her cheek and felt them instantly begin to get warmer. Then he stroked her shoulder with the tips of his fingers, traced patterns down her arm, watched her body unconsciously respond to his touch. But she did not wake up, and Link was glad. He was, for good reasons, afraid of the princess—he knew that she was falling in love with him. He could see it in the glimmer of her eyes when she looked at him, he could feel it in the passion of her kiss, sense it in the tingles of her skin. Zelda was falling in love with him.

"You don't seem like you're having a bad dream, Princess," he whispered. "At least, I hope you're not."

Sometimes, Link still felt uncomfortable calling her Zelda because he didn't want to make her think that he was falling in love with her, as she was with him. But he acknowledged that that idea made him quite the hypocrite, while he knelt beside the bed where she was sleeping in the middle of the night, his skin still tingling from the pressure of her lips. He couldn't claim that he didn't enjoy feeling her in his arms, or pressing his body against hers, or hearing her breathe at night. But he didn't love her, and he wasn't sure that he ever could.

Just then, her eyes opened. Link's fingers were still running up and down her arm when they did. She looked at him for a few moments, eyes still drooping with the remains of sleep, and then she smiled.

"Hi."

Link liked her voice, too, because it was smooth and sounded like music. But in that instant, it didn't sound right. It sounded very, very wrong.

"Hey."

"What are you doing?"

"Watching you breathe and tracing patterns on your arm."

"Mm."

She reached out and ran her fingers through the wild tangles of his hair, as if she hadn't heard him. Then she propped herself up on her elbow, letting the blanket slide down ever so slightly.

"Why aren't you asleep yet...?"

"I'm not tired."

Link never felt bad lying to Zelda about anything, but he wasn't sure why. The words always seemed to flow so smoothly out of his mouth, even when they were tainted with untruthfulness. If she ever noticed, then she was uncannily good at hiding it. Or, she simply didn't care.

"Oh?" She leaned forward, let her hand rest on the back of his neck, and kissed him. As she pulled away, she let her tongue momentarily graze his lower lip. "Well you should get some rest."

"Maybe I should."

"Is the rain keeping you awake?"

"...Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Come here, darling."

Zelda gestured toward the empty spot beside her, and Link reluctantly slipped into the bed. He hadn't wanted her to wake up because she would interrupt the magical silence of the night. And regardless of how wonderful her voice sounded, there was still something strange about it at night. Something unnatural. He wanted her to go back to sleep, dream wonderful dreams, continue being fooled into believing that he loved her. That would've made everything so much simpler. Now, she would lull him to sleep without any knowledge of the horrible monster that lay in wait inside of his sleeping mind, and he couldn't do anything about it. All he could do was listen to that musical voice and slip, albeit hesitantly, into bed.

"Close your eyes."

He did what she asked, and before he could cringe at the ominous images behind his eyelids, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled his body into hers. Link knew that his skin was cold; he could feel the lack of warmth deep within his bones. But the princess was warm, and the blankets were soft, and he was in an atmosphere of safety. Safety, however, was not the type of emotion Link was feeling. He hadn't experienced that emotion in months, and he wasn't about to start feeling it at that moment. He couldn't remember what safety felt like anyway.

"Just listen to my breathing. Relax."

She pressed her lips against his forehead, ran her hands along his back, and let her breathing fall into his ear. Zelda breathed in, and out...in...out...

The last thing he remembered wondering before falling asleep was why he couldn't bring himself to love her.

* * *

_The room was white. White and horribly eerie. And when Link stepped forward, there was water beneath his feet. Shallow water—enough to wet the soles of his boots, but nothing more. He stared down and saw his reflection, wide-eyed and pale, staring back up at him, and for a moment he was fooled into believing that the water was much deeper than it was. It made him hesitate, questioning whether he would tumble into an endless abyss of water, before stepping forward. _

_ Link walked and felt the air become heavy upon his shoulders. The force made him gasp for breath. He felt as if he were suffocating beneath the tension of the atmosphere and the inevitable fact that something was waiting for him. He was doomed, and the burden of knowing that was heavy. Turning around, he saw the door standing like an island, isolated and locked behind him. He turned to his right: nothing but pure whiteness. He turned to his left: again, nothing. He faced forward, still panting and struggling to maintain his breathing, and saw another isolated door. It seemed to be miles away. And in between the two doors was a single tree. Link had seen the tree so many times before, but its presence still made his knees buckle. The tree was black and leafless. It stood like a dying soldier, erect but broken, surrounded by an air of sorrow and loneliness. There was nothing but the tree, and he felt sorry for it._

_ He began moving toward the tree when it wailed his name. _

_ Each time the tree wailed, he quickened his steps. Its voice sounded so urgent, as if it were crying out with its last breath for him to come closer...closer...closer. He found himself standing in front of the ashen tree, out of breath and crouched over, crying, "I'm here! Let me help you!" _

_ Still, the tree continued wailing. It said his name over and over again until it echoed endlessly in the air and hung there like a lifeless body. Link reached his hand out to stroke the tree's slim body, to comfort it, to make it stop saying his name. He begged it. The tree ignored him and continued wailing. He felt the tears of terror and frustration stinging his bloodshot eyes as he cried again, "I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!" It didn't seem to be able to feel his touch against its trunk. It screamed as if he were miles away, even though he was right there in front of it. "Stop, stop, stop," he pleaded uselessly. Hopeless and haunted, he let his voice die, placed both of his hands on the tree, and leaned forward against it with his eyes tightly closed. _

_ Just then, he felt something appear beneath his hands, something other than the tree. He felt it breathe under his palms, and his eyes shot open. _

_ Link stood, face to face with a shadow. _

_ It had appeared before him, leaning carelessly against the tree with a distorted sneer on its face. But when he looked into his piercing red eyes, Link froze. The water on the ground became like deep, deep mud, and he couldn't move a single inch. All he could do was glare into the shadow's eyes and struggle to pull his hands from its shoulders. But the shadow had lifted its hands and grabbed onto Link's. He couldn't move._

_ "Stop struggling," the shadow said. "You'll only make it worse." _

_ The words flipped a switch in his brain, and he jumped to life. With a desperate leap backward, Link drew his blue-hilted sword and snarled. The shadow just threw its ugly head back and laughed a cackling, maniacal laugh. Then it took a step forward but kept its arms crossed leisurely across its chest. It looked as if it were floating on the water as it made its way ominously toward him. The air became like ice. _

_ "Come on, you don't really want to fight me, do you?" it taunted. _

_ Link jumped forward with his sword raised and brought it down, envisioning the shadow being sliced in half and disappearing forever. But before his sword could make contact, the shadow evaporated. _

_ "I thought you would've realized by now..." Its voice came from behind. "Those tricks don't work on me." _

_ Link let out a savage yell and whirled around, swinging his sword desperately. Suddenly and harshly, he was thrown backwards by his weapon's collision with another. As he stumbled, he saw the shadow twirling its own sword in its hand. Its left hand. The sword was pure black, and it smelled of blood. While Link struggled to find his footing, the shadow was unfazed. It slowly began walking toward him, letting its sword swing from side to side. _

_ "You know already," it laughed. "You can't beat me." _

_ When it attacked, he was hardly ready for it. Link brought up his sword just in time, and sparks flew. It swung again, pushing him back, laughing the whole way through. Link didn't know what to do. His skills with the sword, so sharp and honed, were nothing to this shadow. Then it began to imitate him. Link jabbed at the shadow; it jabbed straight back but with more power, nearly leaving him on the ground. He swung horizontally; it swung horizontally as well, but made Link's wrist snap and ache. And through this mirrored dance of parries and jabs and slices, he tried to make out its facial features, but they were obscured in the darkness. _

_ "What do you want? Leave me alone!" Link screamed. _

_ "Hah!" _

_ He ducked as the shadow's sword flew just above his head. But then it stepped forward. _

_ "Too slow." _

_ It brought the sword down against Link's arm, and as the blood began seeping through his tunic, he let out a shriek of pain. He tried to overcome the initial blindness of the searing pain, but the shadow brought the hilt of its terrible black sword down onto his left shoulder. His sword fell with a splash into the shallow water at his feet as he screamed again—a hoarse, bloodcurdling scream. _

_ "Tsk, tsk, we're getting rusty, huh?" _

_ The shadow let its sword fall diagonally across Link's chest. The sight of blood rushing down his skin, tainting the silvery water, made him too lightheaded to feel the pain. Everything became foggy. _

_ "That can't be your best...can it, o great hero?" _

_ It drove him backward, jabbing lightly into his chest with the tip of its sword with each step. Link felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness—one moment he was calm and dizzy, the next he was writhing in the type of pain that was utterly blinding. Suddenly, with holes of blood in his tunic, he could be driven back no further. His back was against the tree, staining its black skin red. The shadow was laughing. It stood a couple of steps away from Link, watching in glory as he screamed and helplessly watched his own blood flow. _

_ "Wh...who are you?" he managed. _

_ The shadow stepped forward into the light, and Link saw who it was. _

_ He saw himself with red eyes, black hair, nearly transparent skin, and a disgustingly pleased grin. _

_ "I'm you." _

_ The shadow brought his sword to his lips and licked the blood dripping from its blade. Then he licked his own lips and continued walking forward. The smile on his face was one of content, of satisfaction, of absolute carelessness. _

_ "Except that I'm better." _

_ The shadow was suddenly right there, his face a hair's width from Link's, whispering in his ear. He lifted the sword and gently pressed it to Link's neck, drawing one quick gasp of breath. He was suffocating, leaning against that tree in a puddle of his own blood, feeling a shadow of him take pleasure in his pain. Each moment the pain grew worse. He wasn't sure how much more he could stand. _

_ "Do you know why I'm better? Huh?" _

_ The shadow pressed the sword against Link's neck, just enough to draw blood from the thin line in his skin. As Link leaned his head back against the tree, praying for relief from this torture, the shadow chuckled in his ear and pressed him harder against the tree. _

_ "Tell me, Link," he continued, "Why am I here?" _

_ "To...torture...me..." _

_ "No, but...good guess." _

_ The shadow swiped his finger along the blood of Link's neck, drawing another scream, and then let his finger brush Link's jaw line. It left a red trail on his face. _

_ "I'm here to give you purpose." _

_ "I...have...purpose..." Link was hardly able to speak. _

_ "No. No, you don't." The shadow pressed his entire mouth to Link's ear. "You don't have purpose. And you're going insane without it. That's why I'm here." _

_ "I'm...not..." _

_ "You're useless now. You fulfilled your purpose already." _

_ "I..."_

_ "Shh. Don't even bother trying to say anything," he sneered. Then he grabbed Link's lapel, pulled him away from the tree slightly, and then harshly pushed him back against it. Link could feel his bones trembling underneath his skin. "You know I'm right." _

_ Finally, the shadow stepped backward, and Link fell to his knees. Then his shadow began circling, twisting his sword and making ripples in the water. _

_ "You have no purpose," he continued, thinking aloud more than anything. He sounded as if he were speaking to himself. "But, actually, you _do_. Don't you? At least, you could. I can give it to you." _

_ "How...?" Link croaked. He lay on his stomach in the water, his bloodstained cheek pressed to the ground, watching the shadow walk circles around him. "I have...nothing left...to fight." _

_ "Of course you do. You have plenty to fight." _

_ "No..." _

_ "You finished fighting one thing, right?" _

_ The shadow stopped and kneeled down, lifting Link's face so that he could look into his eyes. He squeezed his cheeks in his hand, bared his disgustingly white teeth, and licked his lips. _

_ "So, find something else. Fighting gives you purpose, doesn't it?"_

_ Link had no more energy to speak. All he could do was lay there, eyelids drooping as his shadow glared at him. _

_ "So fight," he whispered. "Fighting is fighting, no matter with whom or against whom. Fight anything. Fight everything. Do you understand now why I'm here?" _

_ The shadow stood up, leaving Link to drift into darkness. Just before he did, he heard one more thing. _

_ "I _am_ your purpose." _


	3. Chapter 3

3

I can't count how many times I woke up in her arms, sweating and shivering as if I were covered in a blanket of snow. Sometimes I was screaming. But each time my eyes shot open, it was her face that I saw, watching me with those wide eyes and stroking my feverish face with those delicate fingers. And as desperately as I wanted to feel comfort from that sight, undeniably beautiful and undeniably glowing, I only felt emptiness. Tears flooded down my cheeks every morning that I saw her face and couldn't love her. But the tears were tears of fear, as well. They flowed because of the nightmares that plagued me like a virus. Every night since the day of the mirror's disappearance, the shadow has appeared, whispered in my ear, brought me to the brink of death. The bags under my eyes and the gauntness of my face became irreversible after a couple of months. And still, she held me in her arms. And still, I didn't love her.

It became routine. I knew that Zelda understood why I never wanted to sleep. She knew that my excuses were all lies; she even believed that she understood the reason for my nightmares. Each morning, it was the same. My eyes would open and I would see her face looking down at me, and then I would feel her hands on my cheeks. I would be shivering, my teeth would be chattering, and beads of sweat would cover every inch of my body. I would feel sick, tortured, dying, in my own skin. She would run her fingers through my hair and work out every tangle, all the while whispering, "Shh, my darling, it's okay. It's all over. It's all over..." Then she would kiss my forehead and let her lips sit there for years, absorbing the moisture on my skin, feeling the horrible combination of warmth and iciness emanating from my body. Her thumbs would brush away the tears at the corners of my eyes, and I would lay there with my head against her chest and wait, in her slender arms, for the shivering to stop. And once it did, I would thank her, stroke her cheek with the back of my shaky hand, kiss her lips once, and then stand up and get dressed.

I know she got tired of it. I know how much she hated being woken up by my screams. But she never said a single word, and soon enough, I found myself despising her for it. I could see the tension in her face while she watched me slip into my tunic every morning. She was hiding something, and I know now that it was contempt. It was contempt for what she thought was the source of my nightmares. Of course, she was wrong. She was utterly and horribly wrong about everything. Maybe that's the reason I could never bring myself to love her.

I have never told anybody about the shadow, and I don't think that I ever will. Especially not Zelda. Something seems very secret about him. And I don't think anybody would believe me if I said that I murdered myself every night. They would call me crazy...but I guess I am crazy. I am crazy for not having nightmares about wolves taking over my body, or monsters from every corner of the earth crying for my head, or the twilight princess placing her chin on my shoulder and teasing me, or the King of Evil surrounded by a ring of gold and advancing toward me with a sword that was evil itself. But none of those things scares me anymore. I will never be a wolf again. There are no more monsters—and if they were to appear, their heads would roll before they could even say my name. Midna is gone, and I have already accepted that she will never return. The King of Evil died at my hands, left to disappear into the black pool of his demise. And I have never once seen him in my nightmares.

My nightmares are like looking into a mirror and seeing myself rot. People who haven't experienced it could never understand, and that's why I don't bother explaining. I let Zelda think that I had nightmares about Ganondorf. That made things so much easier for her and for me.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Link didn't wake up screaming that morning. He didn't wake up sweating or shivering, still haunted by the face of his shadowy reflection. He woke up as if his dreams had been the most blissful he had ever had. There was a strange sense of satisfaction coursing through his body when he opened his eyes and saw the sunlight pouring in through the windows. Everything, for a moment, seemed beautiful. Link wasn't sure what to make of that beauty, showing itself during the eerie hours of daylight. He lay in bed for a few moments and watched the beauty unfurl around him, noting that he couldn't remember the last time he had had such a feeling of perfect contentment. Then, as if someone had suddenly cried out in his ear, he blinked and sat up in bed and the beauty disappeared. The horrible burden of feeling utterly hopeless descended once again upon his shoulders.

He wondered what Zelda would say when she woke up and didn't hear him screaming. Sitting up and fully aware of the raspy breaths that fell from his dry lips, he looked over at her. She didn't look as if she were sleeping. Her air was too peaceful for that—no tossing, no turning, no hints of slumber on her face. If he hadn't seen her chest gently rising and falling, Link might've thought that she was dead. Her stillness was that deceiving. She must've been in a very deep sleep, though. Her eyelids weren't fluttering as they had been during the night. Sunlight danced along her skin, shining with the remains of his kisses, through the open window.

Link tried to fall in love with her. He decided to begin with her hair. It was spread out beneath her head, shimmering and tangled and the most amazing combination of gold and brown. He grabbed it softly, hoping to be moved by it, and brought it to his nose. Zelda's hair smelled like his tunic, and he couldn't love her through it. He then placed a hand on her cheek and stroked her closed eyelids with his thumb, thinking that perhaps the smoothness of her skin would awaken his inner lover. Her mouth opened slightly at his touch, and she turned her face into his palm. Link's gently lifted his hand and traced the edges of her lips with his index finger and felt her sweet breath against his tingling skin. Her lips were bright red, like blood, and they felt supple. But he still didn't love her.

He bent down, pressed his forehead lightly against hers, closed his eyes to immerse himself in the touch, and breathed into her. His hand moved down to her neck, where it danced along the thin, warm skin, and felt her steady pulse. Everything was so soft and smooth, and Link could taste the mingling of his breath with hers. His eyelashes brushed hers. As he let his hand move, just barely grazing her skin, down from her neck to her chest, her body began to rise. It seemed for a moment that there was a puppet master hovering above them, and there was a string in the center of Zelda's chest, and the puppet master was pulling her gently upwards while Link's hand made its way to her slender stomach beneath the covers. And even as she responded so gracefully to his touch, even as her breathing entered his body, even as he craved the feeling of her skin, he didn't love her.

Finally, he gave up and withdrew. As the princess fell back into her deathly slumber, Link stood up and began getting dressed. He suddenly hated the sunlight. He hated the room. He hated the fact that there was a beautiful girl in the bed beside him, and he hated it that the beautiful girl loved him. He hated that when he looked out the window, he could see a town unfurling in the morning hours. He hated that he could see people smiling, parents working, children playing. He hated that they didn't seem disturbed. They were perfectly happy. He absolutely hated it.

"Oh, come now. That scowl is so unbecoming on that beautiful face of yours."

The voice was familiar, but Link couldn't quite pinpoint it. It was like the voice of someone who had lovingly spoken to him as a child, when he must have been too young to recall the face. But the voice itself was so distinguishable—he had to have heard it before. Then, as he looked at his faded reflection in the window, he saw someone tall and dark looming behind him. The person had red eyes.

Link grabbed his sword from where it sat on the floor beside him, unsheathed it, and whirled around, stumbling over himself and fumbling with the blue hilt. He expected to find himself face to face with a towering figure, looking down upon him with bloodthirsty eyes. Instead, Link was face to face with emptiness. He hadn't realized how loud the drawing of his sword had been until he noticed Zelda sitting up in bed and clutching the covers against her chest. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open, and she was staring at Link with a wild expression.

"Wha...?"

"I—"

"What are you doing with your sword?" she stuttered.

He could hear her panting, and abruptly became aware of his own heavy breathing. Link stood up straighter and let the tip of sword drag against the ground. The energy that had only a moment ago been pulsing through his veins swiftly seeped out of him. He felt very, very tired, and he felt frightened.

"Nothing..."

"Link, what's going on?"

"I...I thought I saw someone."

He felt as if he needed to admit that to himself, so he told her. The words tasted like blood on his lips.

"Saw someone?! Who?"

Zelda's eyes began darting around the room. She tightened her grip on the blankets bunched in her fists. Link considered asking her why she was so scared—after all, she hadn't experienced what he had. She couldn't have. She didn't understand him, his nightmares, the person he had seen in the window. So why was she so scared?

"I don't know," he replied. "Someone tall and dark."

"Goddesses, Link, don't _scare_ me like that."

Her expression became a combination of relief and exasperation.

"I-I'm sorry."

He realized his hands were shaking, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not get his heart to stop beating at the speed of light. It pounded in his chest like a drum, drowning out the noise around him and constantly reminding him of the person he had seen. And that voice, like the hidden tune of a music box, continued singing in his head. "That scowl is so unbecoming on that beautiful face of yours," it kept saying. Over and over again. He tried to hide the trembles that burdened his body as he bent down and put the sword back in its sheath.

"Link?"

He felt himself jump as Zelda said his name.

"Are you all right?"

He continued to stare at the ground, but he could hear her get out of bed. Her footsteps were light but pierced his brain as she made her way toward him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he heard himself say. The words didn't sound like they could be coming from his mouth, though. His lips seemed too icy to be able to move.

Suddenly her hands were on his shoulders and forcing him to stand straight. He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling too noticeably. Her deep, blue eyes sparkled with concern as she examined his face and habitually straightened the wrinkles in his tunic. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, and then mimicked him by biting her own lip. Link wondered how horrifying he looked.

"You don't have a fever."

Zelda was speaking more to herself than to him. He noticed that she did that a lot.

"I'm not sick, Zelda."

"No, you don't seem sick," she mused. It was then that Link noticed how magnificently naked she was.

"You didn't have to get out of bed for me."

"I'm worried..."

She started playing with his hair again, as she always did right before she kissed him. He had become so accustomed to the feeling of her delicate fingers in his locks, undoing tangles in one spot and causing them in another.

"Really, I'm fine. I think the light was just playing tricks on me."

"Mm."

Zelda stood on her toes, placed her hands on his chest, and kissed him. More by instinct than anything else, he put his hands on her bare hips and opened his mouth to mold into hers.

"I suppose you're right," she murmured. "After all, I can't remember the last time you didn't wake up screaming. Today must be a good day."

"Maybe..."

She kissed him again, and he thought that maybe he would love her then. But he still didn't. At that point, he almost felt guilty letting her body fall into his and savoring the skin beneath his fingers.

"Why are you up so early, anyway?"

The princess stepped away and made her way to her closet. The sun created a glimmering silhouette around her body, and Link almost believed that she was floating rather than walking. She opened the door of her closet and grabbed a white dress.

"I think I'll go into town." The idea entered his thoughts just as he said it.

"For what?"

"I don't know. It's been a couple of days since I was there."

"Oh. All right, then."

"Do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, thank you."

The dress fell against the curves of her body, and she reached her arms above her head and stretched.

"I'll be back," he reassured as he grabbed his bag. "In time for supper, okay?"

"All right."

Link felt obligated to kiss her lightly on the cheek before he left the room. She smiled and closed her eyes as he did, and when she opened them, he was gone. He skipped down the stairs, rushed through the halls of the castle, desperately bolted out the door before anyone could stop him. Something about the atmosphere was stifling. He had to leave before he drowned in his own despairing thoughts. He wasn't positive that Castle Town was the right place to escape to, but it was his only choice. And so, he ran as quickly as he could from the main doors of the castle, walked past the guards, and subjected himself to the rush of the city plaza.

As he walked through the streets of people, he recalled looking out of the window and hating it. His hatred for the air of the town had subsided a little, but bitterness still permeated his mind. Something felt dirty and squirmy inside of him, and he wanted to cleanse himself of it. But more than anything, he wanted to get the voice of the dark, tall person out of his head.

"That scowl looks so unbecoming on that beautiful face of yours."

"That scowl looks so unbecoming on that beautiful face of yours."

"That scowl looks so unbecoming on that beautiful face of yours."

Over and over again in his head, as if he were hearing it anew each time. He tried to let the sounds of the town's inhabitants drown it out, and he tried to think about something else, and it faded eventually. But he could still feel its echo in his skull. It was almost painful.

Link let his legs take him wherever they pleased. First, he walked around the fountain a few times. He listened to the music of the small trio playing beneath the archways, watched the children trip and play in front of him, overheard the gossip of the young women and the old women who gathered, tried to enjoy the sun. He kept walking in circles, taking notice of the same things happening in the same places. Everything was bright and clear, but at the same time, everything was foggy. He kept his eyes on the ground as he walked and watched his own feet take one step after another. One moment everything was too fast, too loud, too excited. The next, the world was slow. The voices were dim. And through it all, Link felt the same emotion of monotonous despair.

"You're just going to keep walking in circles? Is that it?"

The voice was right in his ear this time, and he could almost feel someone's chin resting on his shoulder.

Link swatted at his ear wildly and began tripping over his own feet as chills suddenly covered his skin. He bumped into people, sent them flying, as he turned around to face the person who had whispered those horrifying words.

There was nobody there.

He began hearing murmurs of the people around him, utterances of how rude, how odd, how strange, how jumpy he was. Their words were like bees buzzing around his head, too loud for him to think clearly. The world fell into chaos around him at the feet of that voice. In a panic, Link stumbled to the edge of the fountain and forced himself down before his knees had the chance to give out. He buried his face in his hands, rubbed his temples, and became even more frightened by his own scattered breathing.

He could feel people looking at him. He knew that they were watching him. This strange young man—one they swore they had seen before—hunched over on the edge of the fountain, breathing so heavily that his entire body shook.

"Oh, that's right! He's the new knight."

"No, really?"

"Yes, yes, I'm certain! His knighting ceremony is in a couple of weeks."

"So _he's_ the one who's been gallivanting around with the princess, huh?"

"That's the one!"

"Well...what is he doing here?"

"And whatever is the matter with him?"

_Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ he thought. _Stop talking, please, please, please._

Link pulled at his hair and wanted so badly to feel the pain in his scalp. Anything to distract him from the voices, endless voices, circulating around him like cockroaches. Sweat poured down his face like waterfalls. He turned around and began desperately splashing his face with the water in the fountain, biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood. The water was cold against his face, but as it penetrated his skin and washed away the sweat, he felt even dirtier. He opened his eyes and looked down at his reflection in the water. Crazed, bloodshot eyes, as pale as a ghost. And then the water began to change. It twisted in milky circles that distorted his features and made him look, at first, like a monster. Then the ripples rushed through the surface, and Link was left to stare at his reflection once more. Except that his hair was no longer blond, but the color of a raven's black feathers. The signature blue hue of his eyes was replaced by a piercing red. The lips of his reflection were upturned and peeled back to reveal a smirk...but he himself wasn't smiling.

"Aren't I breathtaking?" he said to himself. Link felt his mind caving in on itself. "Simply _breathtaking?_"

"No, no, no, no," he repeated. He kept shaking his head, but his reflection stood still and continued smile.

"Is it getting to you, Link?" his reflection asked. "Is it all getting to you?"

"Stop, stop, stop, stop..."

"Just admit it."

The voice was in his ear again, whispering, so close that he could feel the saliva against his skin.

"You want me. You want me more than anything."

"I don't want you more than anything—"

"Yes you do."

"I hate you more than anything..."

"No, no, no," the voice laughed. Link was frozen, staring at the lips of his reflection move as he himself stood completely still. "You love me."

The last thing Link remembered before he let darkness take him was the sound of his own bloodcurdling scream.


	5. Chapter 5

5

People say that there's a tipping point, and once you reach it, you tumble over the edge. Sometimes the lightest weight, like that of a feather, is enough to push you. Things pile up one after another on your shoulders, pushing you down first to your knees. Then to your hands. And then you crack and people say you've reached your tipping point. And by that time, you're bloody and your whole body is trembling and there are scars all over your hands and knees. You've nearly gone deaf from the voices in your head, you can hardly see through the darkness surrounding you, and you've never felt so strongly about your desire for death. Be it your own death or the death of others...you crave death. It's because once you've reached that point, there's nothing left to inspire you, nothing left to pull you back from the horrible abyss into which you've fallen. You've seen life already. In fact, life is what you threw you down there. So what else is there to desire but death?

The things began piling up when the mirror shattered. They kept coming, pressing themselves against my back, whispering terrible things in my ear and pushing me down. I didn't even realize it. The dreams I had were like poison discreetly making its way through the circuits in my brain, filling my head with images of blood and lust and death. But people kept telling me it would pass. I wasn't crazy, they said—I was traumatized. But nobody understood. I wasn't traumatized. Ganondorf did absolutely nothing to my heart. I can't say that even now I don't have painful pangs of missing Midna, but I also can't say that her sudden disappearance traumatized me.

I don't know where my tipping point was. Maybe it was the day that I saw the shadow, and everything became too real. When I heard that voice and saw the reflection in the plaza, maybe it was then that I was pushed, never to return to the world I had known. All I know is that from that moment, the pain has never stopped. It's a part of my bones, a part of my mind. The poison has infected me. I know there's no cure, and I know that nobody can help me.

Zelda tried to help me. But even if I had loved her, I was already gone. And that killed her.

I think I loved her in the beginning—no, I'm certain that I loved her in the beginning. My thoughts revolved around her and only her. The nightmares would come to me in the night and pass when the sun rose, and her image was left in my head. I wanted nothing more than to lay in her arms, become familiar with her scent, hear her say my name over and over again. I told myself that I loved her. "I love Zelda," I said. So when she invited me to live with her in the castle after weeks of mailing letters to one another, when she explained to me that I was to be knighted, the love brewing within me exploded into a flurry of words and actions. And then I found myself in her bed, listening to her voice as it rose with the sun.

But I stopped loving her soon enough. Maybe it was my realization that I never really loved her, or maybe it was the vicious influence of the reflection I saw of myself in my dreams. Or the tree, or the water, or the fact that she never wanted to come with me to the Sacred Grove or Arbiter's Grounds. I don't love her anymore. I never will again. I loved her for a very short period of time, one that is so forgettable. I have to dig deep within myself to bring up memories of my infatuation. I wonder how much she loved me. Maybe it kept her awake at night. Maybe she watched me sleep and wept because I had never said the words, "I love you." All while sweat poured down my cheeks and I tossed and turned with the nightmares.


	6. Chapter 6

6

_past: one month after ganondorf's defeat_

Link sat on the riverbank, rereading the letter in his hands for the third time. Each time, his eyes grew wider and his heart pounded harder. He kicked his legs lightly in the water, kept crumpling the parchment in his fists and then straightening it out again. Everything seemed exciting that day. The sun was shining with a brightness that Link felt had become scarce, and the life of Ordon was unfurling like a flower that morning. The children were running out of their houses, screeching about the presence of such a wonderful atmosphere, climbing over each other and splashing through the river. Their parents, with smiles on their faces and contentment in their hearts, watched with loving eyes and said quiet "good mornings" to one another. Link felt hands clap against his back and heard people greeting him. He was absentminded in his responses.

Ordon hadn't changed in the two years since Link had first left. The people were the same, his routines were the same, the animals and the flowers and the sky was the same. And still, Link couldn't bring himself to call it home anymore.

"Welcome home!" they had said upon his return. The words had made him cringe. It didn't feel like home. He had pondered that idea a lot while he lay in bed at night, still unaccustomed to the nightmares that haunted him, and he had pondered that idea while he went back to his work as a ranch-hand.

"Don't feel bad," Ilia had told him. "Your big adventure may be over, but we still need and love you here in Ordon."

She hadn't made him feel any better.

That morning, Link had received another letter from the postman. Upon seeing his full name, written in beautiful curls and in the most elegant ink, he had immediately known its origins. He had been receiving letters like this for the past month, but when he saw the official wax seal on the envelope, he knew this one was different. And now he sat on the riverbank reading the invitation and concentrating especially hard on Zelda's signature at the bottom.

_I would be honored to host you here at Hyrule's court,_ it read, _in preparation for the ceremony of your knighthood, after the repairs of the castle, which shall be in six months' time. I look forward to your arrival, O Great Hero. _

Nobody in Ordon called him "Great Hero." The giddiness he felt at the title was the giddiness of a young boy receiving a new toy. The parchment fit into his hands like a puzzle piece, and its words sparkled in the sunlight. A new adventure was mapped out before him, waiting in Hyrule Castle, ready to be plucked like a ripe apple from a tree. And Link was more than prepared to pack his bags once more, hop onto Epona's back, and ride to Hyrule Castle where the princess was waiting for him with open arms. For a moment, he thought about leaving Ordon behind again...Would it be as difficult as last time? Would the homesickness once again rush over him? Would he be as afraid?

No, he wouldn't be. This time he was much more prepared than he had been the first time. There were no monsters awaiting him behind a dark gateway, his friends and family were safe in their homes, Hyrule was calm and Ganondorf was gone. Link had nothing to be afraid of.

"Whatcha reading?"

He felt a pair of elbows settle themselves on his shoulders.

"Nothing—"

"That's not nothing," Ilia scoffed. She rested her chin on his head and began pulling playfully on his ears.

"It is nothing!" he laughed.

"Oh, a letter, huh?"

She began grinding her teeth, causing Link to cringe and pull his head from under her jaw. She laughed that melodious laugh and pinched the back of his neck before sitting down beside him.

"I bet I know who it's frooooom."

"Oh, yeah? Who?"

"The princess!" Ilia sang. With a quick flutter, she splashed water on him and laughed again. "Your mysterious little pen pal, right?"

"I swear, the birds must tell you everyone's secrets," Link teased.

He nudged her just hard enough to make her think she was going to fall in. With a yelp, she grasped his arm to keep herself steady, and then shot him a jokingly angry expression. Link was going to miss Ilia. He had missed her the first time, as well. She was like a sister to him, a rock, someone who could pull on his ear to make him laugh, someone he could push into the river and still expect to love him. But he knew he had to leave, and he knew he had to leave for good. Ordon had nothing left for him—perhaps the castle would.

"What does the letter say _this_ time, lover boy?"

Link paused and stared into her green eyes. He braced himself for her reaction.

"She wants me to go live with her in the castle."

Ilia's face fell from jubilant to shocked.

"She wants you to...but, why? For what?"

"In preparation for my knighting ceremony—"

"Your _what?_"

She suddenly looked shaken, and with each dramatic blink her eyes glistened more brightly with the accumulating tears.

"My knighthood. Ilia, I'm going to be a knight in six months."

She bit her lower lip and looked away, straight into the water. The silence was deafening for a few moments, and the only thing Link could do was stare at her turned face and rustle the letter in his hands. Finally, she looked back up at him, with tears streaming down her cheeks and a smile brightening her features.

"I'm happy for you," she breathed. "But I might start causing trouble around here just to get you to come back."

"Sure thing," he nodded. "But you know I'll come and visit anyway, right?"

"Of course," she sniffed. "Of course you will."

* * *

Link never went back to Ordon. He never visited. After a few months in Hyrule, drowning in the nightmares and the confusion and what he thought—at first—was love, he forgot Ilia's face. He forgot what the inside of his home looked like. He forgot what the sunlight and the trees and the flowers looked like there. He never saw any of them again, and he forgot what it was like to call someplace home. Of course, as the time passed, Link changed. By the time he realized that he could remember practically nothing about his old home, he was ready to accept it. And by that time, he had begun to let himself be consumed by the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

7

I wish that I remembered what it felt like to be unmistakably happy. That's how I want to feel—the raw emotion that is joy and elation. I felt that, I think, in my old home. I felt that when people told me that I had saved their lives, and I felt that when people kneeled at my feet to kiss my hand and call me a hero. But I haven't felt it since then. My mind just stopped processing the emotions that brought a smile, flushed and pink, to my face. All I have are fear, desolation, hopelessness. So as we always do when our lives are slipping through our fingers, I grasp onto anything that's left as tightly as I possibly can. I grab hold and squeeze, more and more tightly, until I am sure that the remains of my life sit nicely in the palm of my hand.

I was once known as the silent hero with the beautiful smile—I don't know if that was my title exactly, but that's what people thought about me. Silent, mysterious, strong, courageous. And I made people swoon when I smiled. It's hard to bring back the feelings of pride I felt in my own smile. I wanted to show it off, let people feel my happiness inside of them, take advantage of the natural abilities with which I'd been blessed. But soon enough I nearly forgot how to smile. I forgot how to feel happy enough to do it anyway. I have perfected my grimace.

Princess Zelda was often reminding me of that fact, too. She would tilt her head and examine my features, with a look of curiosity on her face, then she would touch my lips with the tips of her fingers. She would tell me that I never smiled any more—she would tell me that she missed my smile. And then I would fake it and apologize and hate her even more for it. I should have been grateful, I know I should have, but I only felt deceitful. Every moment in her presence felt like deceit after a little while. And I just stopped trying to feel happy, stopped trying to make things real. I opened my arms and I welcomed the emotions that most would push away in disgust.

And so they've been festering within me: fear, terror, disgust, sadness, loneliness. They've been sitting inside of me, in the wide open space I've given them, and spreading through my entire soul. The worst part of it all (or maybe the best part of it all) is that I don't mind. In fact, it feels good. It feels like I have something to hold onto, something over which I still have control. Because I've lost enough control as it is.


	8. Chapter 8

8

_past: one month after zelda's letter_

Link had made his decision, and he could see in her eyes that she had made hers as well. As he did every evening, he sat on her right side at the dinner table. She sat at the head, delicately putting spoons barely filled into her mouth and sipping the blood red wine. The other members of Hyrule's court, in their colorful clothing and feathered-hats and bulging dresses, filled the silence for them. The world already knew that Link was a relatively silent person, and the princess herself had no obligation to say a word. So they let the two of them be, eating their food and every few moments, exchanging glances and hidden smiles. Their secret, implicit conversations had become a ritual.

On the first night of Link's arrival, Zelda had insisted that he sit beside her.

"This man saved my kingdom," she had said, "and I want a hero by my side."

And from that day on, for the past month, Link had obediently taken his seat beside the princess at dinner. Nobody thought anything of it. But he felt something radiating from her when she licked her lips and looked over at him, blinking so slowly that she could have been falling asleep. That day, her hair was pulled back from her face with golden clips, and he could see every line of her face, the clear outlines of her elegant jawbones, the way her entire face rose and fell with the movement of her lips. Link dabbed his own lips with a napkin and stretched his leg out beneath the table. He stretched, further and further, until he felt his foot brush the edge of her leg. Above the table, the princess's eyes widened in surprise, and she initially drew back. A smile crept onto Link's face as she desperately looked around the table, wondering if anyone had seen her start.

Link brushed her leg again. This time, with composure, she straightened her back and responded. Their silent exchanges had suddenly become more than fleeting looks and an occasional word—they had become something physical. She glanced over at him and pursed her lips, but only for a moment. Then she turned, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her pointed ear, and engaged in conversation with the person on her other side. Link wanted to jump up and laugh out loud. He had understood her perfectly. After one month at the castle, he had learned her idiosyncrasies, and though their actual conversations were minimal, Link had a talent for reading people.

He wanted to skip dessert, but he knew that was a bad idea. If he made one mistake, everything would fall apart—until tomorrow, of course. But Link was an impatient person, and he wasn't willing to wait until tomorrow. He was fidgety and had goose bumps while he ate the cake and intermittently grazed the princess's leg beneath the table. He marveled at how good she was at hiding things. To the naked eye, she was completely oblivious to Link's existence that night.

Suddenly, a miracle occurred, and Link didn't have to wait any longer.

"It seems that I have grown tired," the princess announced. She stood up and placed both of her hands on the table. "I do apologize, but I must retire. Today has been an awfully long day..."

Zelda paused as everyone's heads bobbed up and down. Then, without looking over at him once, she spoke again.

"Link. If it's no trouble, I would like for you to escort me to my room."

Everyone became silent. He was frozen, his lips glued shut, unsure of how to respond. The princess didn't say another word. She stood, erect and stoic, staring straight ahead. Then all eyes turned to Link, who could feel the heat rising from his toes right to his cheeks. He understood exactly what she was saying, and he was worried that everyone else understood, as well.

"O-of course, your Highness."

He scrambled to his feet and ungracefully bowed. He wondered how he could transition so swiftly from being beautifully subtle to being beautifully clumsy. The princess waited patiently for him to go through the motions: push out his chair, walk around to her back, pull out her chair, hold out his arm. She nodded, said good night, and placed her hand on his arm. Together, they turned around and marched out of the dining hall, toward the long stairwell that led to Zelda's room.

Her hand felt as light and delicate as a feather.

They were both silent as they made their way up the stairs, and Link took the opportunity to regain his composure. He listened to her heels clicking on the stone and watched her step up with her arrow-straight back. It was then that Link realized it was the first time he had walked up these stairs, still crumbling and covered in ash, in such a calm atmosphere. He remembered running up, sword in hand (or fangs bared), an imp in his shadow (or on his back), and determination in his heart. And now he was there with his heart beating as loudly as a drum and the princess's fingers grazing the back of his hand. He looked down at them. The rest of her body was as still as a statue, but her fingers kept moving. Tapping against his hand, swaying back and forth.

They reached the massive wooden door to her room, and she finally lifted her hand and stepped away. When she turned around to look at him, a bubble began to rise in Link's throat, something he could feel about to explode.

"Thank you," she said. She stood and stared at him. He felt himself begin to wriggle beneath her penetrating, unbelievably sultry gaze.

"It was my honor," he said.

Link had heard that his crooked smile was nice, so he flashed it to her just before he bowed. As he found himself staring at the ground, he saw her feet shifting. The bubble kept rising.

"Well..."

She smiled. He wondered, after his heart practically stopped, if he had ever seen her smile like that.

"Good night, Link."

By that time the bubble was sitting on his tongue, and he couldn't respond. For a few moments, the princess seemed unsure, and he didn't think he had ever seen her like that. Her feet kept shifting, her hand was resting in a very permanent manner on the frame of the door, strands of hair were falling from their place. Then, as if blinking from a trance, she shook her head and took a step back into her room.

When Zelda began to close the door, Link opened his mouth to stop her, and the bubble burst.

He lunged forward, grabbed her face as tightly as he could, and kissed her—he was afraid that if he didn't, she would slip right through his fingers. He felt her surprise and her hesitance, but he would not hold back. After hastily kicking the door closed, he took her by the shoulders, whirled her around, and pushed her back against it. Her hands reached up to his tunic and pulled him more tightly against her, opening her mouth and letting her tongue intertwine with his. They were chest to chest, hip to hip, face to face, and he was suddenly in a surreal world. Each moment that passed felt like a dream.

The princess leaned her head back against the door and let out a deep sigh. Link kissed her neck and listened to her breathing and rubbed the silhouette of her curves.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she breathed.

Link chuckled against her skin, stroked her cheek with his thumb, and moved his lips up to ear.

"Do you want me to stop, Princess?" he whispered.

She closed her eyes, grabbed his tunic more tightly, and exhaled the breath she had been holding.

"No..."

So he didn't.

* * *

That night was the first time that the shadow in Link's nightmares spoke to him. That morning, lying in Princess Zelda's bed, he woke up screaming for the first time. The nightmares affected him more and more each night, and soon enough, they drowned out his love for her—if there ever was any. In the beginning, Link could hardly believe the horrifying transformation through which he had gone, but soon enough he was able to accept it. He tried not to fall asleep anymore. He avoided closing his eyes or letting the princess lull him to bed. But there were times when he couldn't stay awake anymore, and he was forced to endure the nightmares. To say he became immune to the fear would be wrong, but he did become accustomed. The darkness was terrifying, horrible, frightening every single night, but he began to welcome the emotions. After all, they were the only ones he could truly feel.


	9. Chapter 9

9

The mind, the soul, maybe, works in unusual ways. It unfurls and reveals itself as some twisted monster you never thought could exist sometimes, and other times you find yourself shocked by the purity of your own inner self. It's really frightening how little we truly know about ourselves. We look in the mirror, stare ourselves in the face and say, "That's me." But we don't really know who we are in the end—our true identities appear like a mirage in front of us when we least expect it, and the creature we ultimately see is completely different than the one we were expecting. I'm convinced of that.

When I wielded a sword for the first time, my hands shook in fright. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I was holding a deadly weapon, one that was inevitably to draw blood, because that idea had always been so far from my head. I had always imagined myself growing up, taking over the ranch, living a life of peace in Ordon. But even on that day, when I rode into the forest to save Talo...something in my head clicked. I gripped the handle of the sword and a shock ran through my body, a kind of shriek, alerting me that everything I had ever dreamed was about to disappear. So my hands shook, my knees nearly buckled beneath me, I could sense the paleness in my face. I didn't sleep that night. When I closed my eyes, all I saw were images of the monsters that I had somehow managed to slay, lying at my feet in a pool of blood.

Blood scared me. It was only after months, maybe even after an entire year, that I became accustomed to cleaning my blade of the blood that constantly stained it. I was very cautious because I didn't want myself to become addicted to that blood. In a sense, I wanted myself to remain disgusted by it. But as the deaths continued to smear themselves onto the palms of my hand, my immunity to the sight of blood increased. I stopped turning away when I stabbed a monster in the heart, or left its head rolling. I became numb to it all, which is really a phenomenon now that I think about it. I had once been so terrified of blood, and in the end, I became numb to it.

But we don't really know ourselves. First I thought I was scared. Then I thought I was numb. But I know now that my fears, the ones circling in my head when I grabbed that sword with white fingers, have been realized. I'm addicted to it. Blood, that is. I'm addicted to blood.


	10. Chapter 10

10

_present_

Link stands very still. He needs to if he wants to satisfy his artist.

"Tell me again, why did you fight?" the artist asks.

"I fought to save Hyrule."

"No, that's not the answer I'm looking for."

The artist begins walking in circles around Link and examining his naked form.

"That's the answer I can give you."

"That's not the real answer."

The artist steps closer and grabs Link's cheeks. The artist begins tilting Link's head this way and that, looks closely at his features, squeezes his cheeks. The artist licks his lips and smiles. Link continues to stand still—if he moves, the artist will lose his inspiration.

"What is the real answer?"

The artist lifts Link's arms to his shoulders, straightens them out, and Link holds them there when the artist lets go. Then the artist pauses for a moment to examine this newfound shape, but finally shakes his head and brings Link's right arm back down.

"I don't know what real answer you're talking about."

"Yes you do."

The artist bends down and grabs Link's right leg, then brings it forward. They are standing in the shallow water, and Link can see the tree behind the artist. Link doesn't know what position the artist wants from him, but he just continues to stand still and let the artist move him as he pleases.

"I don't know what answer you want."

The artist sighs and forces Link's knee to bend. He is lunging, his left arm raised at a right angle, and he keeps his face expressionless. He only ever opens his mouth to respond to the artist. He holds his breath for as long as he can, lets it out slowly, then repeats. He is the clay with which the artist will mold something beautiful, and he must let the artist do so. It is his job.

"I'm going to ask you again, my beautiful masterpiece," the artist says.

The artist draws a sword with blood on it and rubs his fingers along the blade. Then the artist smears the blood onto Link's outstretched fingers, onto Link's bare neck, onto Link's chest and shoulders, and finally onto Link's face.

"Why did you fight?"

The artist slowly brings Link's arm forward, so that he is reaching out. Link doesn't know what he's reaching out for—maybe the ashen tree—but the pain of his stance and the warm blood against his skin feel incredible. Liberating. The artist brings his face inches from Link's. Link can feel the artist's breath on his lips.

"Why did you fight?"

"Because fighting gave me purpose."

"What gave you purpose?"

"Fighting."

"_What_ gave you purpose?"

The artist lifts the sword and presses it to Link's cheek. Link feels blood squeeze from his skin.

"Blood gave me purpose."

"What gave you purpose?"

The artist laughs and smears blood onto Link's lips.

"Death gave me purpose."

"Blood gave you purpose," the artist murmurs. "Death gave you purpose. Whose death?"

"The death of those I was told to slay."

Link closes his eyes and feels the blood dripping on his body and listens to the artist's low, dark voice. It sounds like home.

"I have another question for you."

The artist steps back and lifts the sword. Then the artist puts the sword into Link's hand, pointing outwards. Drenched in blood—the owner of which is a mystery to Link—the sword feels very light. The artist laughs again.

"What gives you purpose now?"

Link is having more and more trouble standing still. The struggle and the pain are refreshing. He knows that if he moves, if he takes that one breath, if he lowers his arm, if he takes a single step or makes a single movement, the masterpiece will be ruined. The artist will never be able to finish.

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. What gives you purpose?"

"I don't know."

"At this very moment," the artist says, "what gives you purpose?"

"This."

"This?"

"This."

"What is this?"

"Pain."

"Pain?"

"Blood."

"Blood?"

"Death still gives me purpose."

"Whose death?"

"I..."

Link pauses. Tears run down his cheeks. The artist lets out a cry of happiness, of satisfaction, of inspiration, and claps his hands.

"Beautiful!"

"I don't know."

"Whose death gives you purpose, my beautiful muse? My beautiful piece of art?"

Link closes his eyes again, feels the warm tears squeeze out and mix with the blood. He knows the answer. He senses it on his lips. But he's afraid to say it. The artist leaps forward and grabs Link's face in his hands. The artist caresses Link's cheeks and strokes Link's lips with his thumb. As if he is encouraging the words to lift. Link knows the answer.

"_Whose death gives you purpose now?_"

Link pauses. But he's ready to give the answer.

"Anybody's. Anybody's death gives me purpose."

* * *

Link opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by people. They stood above him, in a crowded circle, murmuring to themselves, looking down at him.

"He's waking up."

"Goddesses, what even happened to him?"

"I don't know, he just fainted..."

He sat up and felt the pounding in his head grow stronger. With each breath he took, the throbbing intensified, and he found himself wanting to lie back down and fall into the darkness again. The pain wasn't something physical—it was an odd, unique kind of pain. The kind of pain that he couldn't really pinpoint. It was something in his brain, discreetly burrowing its way through his mind, causing a desperate aching in his bones. But nevertheless, it was pain. That was the only thing that Link could call it, as he sat on the stones of the Castle Town central plaza and watched everyone watch him.

Link thought that maybe the sunlight pouring through the morning clouds should have been bright, and should have made him squint, but he could only sense darkness around him. It was calming. He wasn't afraid of the pain that he felt. He embraced it.

But the voices of all of the people around him were still like thorns penetrating his brain. Silence was what he wanted. Silence was what he needed. Silence, darkness. He licked his lips, chapped and dry, and tasted something metallic. But when he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, there wasn't any blood. And yet the taste of it was heavy on his lips and heavy on his tongue.

Link forced himself to stand up. His body felt weightless as he did, as if it were floating, or being carried. The heaviness, the same heaviness he had been feeling for six months, was gone. Everything was beautiful and dark and light—everything except for the voices.

His fingers were itching. He clenched his jaw and glanced around at the people whose voices sputtered out at him like tar. The words were dirty. No, not the words, but the voices. The voices were all very dirty and very heavy.

When he stood up, people began asking him questions, and for a moment Link thought he was going to burst. The itching in his fingers was getting bothersome and distracting, and he wanted more than anything to stop the itching, but he didn't know how. So to get away from the voices, the horrible and dirty voices, Link closed his eyes and walked away. He couldn't see where he was going, but he trusted that his legs would carry him somewhere silent. Somewhere wonderfully quiet.

Link didn't want to go back to the castle. He knew there would be silence there if he wanted there to be (couldn't there be silence anywhere if he _wanted_ there to be, really?), but he didn't want to be around the people there. He didn't want to run into the princess. In fact, he didn't want to run into anybody.

_Coming to town was a bad idea,_ he thought. _I should have stayed in bed all day._

Link found himself walking into Telma's bar, where he assumed it would be silent in the middle of the day. There wouldn't be the voices to swarm around him, to suffocate him. Telma was wiping the countertop when he walked in, but besides her, it was completely empty.

"Good morning, Link."

He cringed.

"What brings you 'round here at this time of day?"

Link fell into the nearest chair and began rubbing his temples again, rubbing away the voices and distracting himself from the horrifying itch in his fingers. It was so thirsty.

"Are you doing okay, hun?"

"Please stop talking..."

"What was that?"

"_Stop talking!"_

The silence that followed was like warm water washing over him. He opened his mouth and relieved breaths fall from his lips, and then he let his shoulders slouch and his body relax. The feeling of tension in his muscles was irritating—had he always been so tense? He made a note to himself to stop being so tense all of the time.

_That's it. Relax. _

Telma stood with her hip cocked and her lips pursed, looking at Link with eyes shimmering with contempt. The expression infuriated him. The itching in his fingers flared up until they were nearly numb, so he began tapping them restlessly against the counter. But even when he looked away, even when he went out of his way to avoid seeing Telma's expression, he could feel her eyes on him. He could feel her trying to see into him and trying to break him. She was trying to break him. She was the one making his fingers itch...no, it was the voices. Everything. It was all coming together and concentrating itself in his fingers and making his lips taste of blood. But it wasn't real blood.

"You're feelin' sick, is that it?"

"I'm not sick."

"You look sick, sweet pea."

"I'm not sick."

_Dirty, dirty, dirty. She's so dirty, isn't she? They're all so dirty._

"Maybe I can make you some soup, huh?"

"No."

"I'll make you soup."

The itching was becoming unbearable. Link felt two hands, soft and smooth like an artist's hands, wrap around his own left hand. They led it down to his sword, and as soon as his fingers touched the shimmering blue hilt, the itching disappeared. He sighed and gripped it more tightly, and then he felt the relief spread through his skin. It spread all the way up to his lips, which curved into a content smile. Link closed his eyes and just basked in the satisfaction for a few moments. A beautiful, dark cackle rang out in his head. It was clean.

_Dirty, dirty, dirty._

Link realized, as he drew his sword, that he hadn't seen blood on it since Ganondorf's death.

_They're all so dirty._

Complete silence.

A perfect, pure air around him.

Blood, real blood, that was like nectar on his tongue.

_ All better._

The most wonderful part was that she hadn't even screamed.


	11. Chapter 11

11

There's something so undeniably beautiful about losing control. Everything that happens feels like it's supposed to be happening, because you can't control anything. The world falls into chaos around you, and people scream and tell you to run and tear their hair out, but you just stand and smile because you've accepted that not having control is preferable. Standing and watching is the best thing you can do. Whatever happens, happens. That's what it feels like when you lose control, and it's a very peaceful feeling. Especially when you have a friend by your side, holding your hand, whispering comforting words in your ears, encouraging you, telling you that losing control is a perfect decision. He tells you that he'll take control—and if he takes control, then you have nothing to worry about. Somebody else deals with all of the problems, somebody else deals with everything over which you never even wanted control. Even if your friend is a shadow who only exists in the crevices of your cracking mind, it's a beautiful feeling. Like you're floating.

And blood is breathtaking, when you truly look at it. In fact, I've never seen anything that's so bright and so red—except for maybe Princess Zelda's lips. But her lips are much colder than blood.

It feels good between your fingers and once the stains are there, your skin takes on a glistening, rosy complexion. It's not the translucent pale color it used to be, and when you hold your fingers up to the light, they sparkle. Breathtaking is the only way to describe it. At least, my friend and I think so. And he's usually right. He's the artist, after all, and he's the one who painted the blood onto my hands—without him, my skin wouldn't be sparkling. I'm not scared anymore, and I'm not numb anymore, I'm just comfortable. I haven't been comfortable in such a long time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Here's the last chapter! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and following. As always, I love you all very much! **

**(Sorry if this leaves you emotionally scarred. It left ME emotionally scarred.)**

**Hugs and kisses to all! ^.^**

* * *

**12**

_ Don't you feel better now? With your purpose?_

Link considered walking out to the field, where he could stick his blade into the dirt and clean it. But when he looked at it again, glistening in the stained light of the bar, it looked too wonderful. Tiny droplets of blood fell from its tip, onto the ground, ran down his arm like the juice of a peach. Each breath he took was effortless and refreshing. Just then, in the midst of his glory, the door behind him opened. Somebody walked in.

_Someone's here. Someone awfully dirty._

The grip on his sword tightened.

_Do you feel it? Your fingers starting to itch again?_

He didn't want to hear a single word. Not even a whimper, a scream, nothing. His arm stretched out swiftly, in silence, and he turned on his heels like a dancer. He felt the sword, like an extension of his arm, become lighter with the blood that caked it. The itching quickly died away. Link sheathed his sword and the side of his leg felt purified as blood seeped through his clothing. The two hands, the artist's hands, rested on his cheeks, and a pair of soft artist lips kissed his forehead and smeared it with red.

When he stepped outside, sunlight fell upon him in a flurry. He stared up at the sky, closed his eyes, let the heat of the sun spread across his skin. The goddesses were watching over him, he could sense it. The beams of sunlight were their hands stretching down to him from the heavens, trying to pull him up toward them. But he wasn't ready to go up yet. The earth was just too comfortable at that moment. Hyrule was once again calling his name, as it used to so wonderfully.

Telma's bar was quiet. Nobody went inside. So Link smiled and walked away from it, still smacking his red lips to savor the taste.

* * *

The pain is still so peaceful. The artist continues to paint.

"How does it feel?" the artist asks his muse.

"Good."

"How good?"

"Amazing. I feel comfortable."

"That's what purpose feels like."

The artist begins to circle him again, making gentle silver ripples in the water. He adjusts Link's arm, bends his neck a bit, straightens his shoulders. The water around Link's feet is warm.

"It's a nice feeling. Am I right?"

"Yes," Link responds.

His voice is clear and begins to echo. He hears the tree cry his name out.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful," the artist coos.

"What's beautiful? Am I beautiful?"

"So beautiful. But..."

The artist crosses his arms and taps his fingers on his cheek. Link can see in his eyes; there is an image playing out in his head, something he wants to see. Link stands still and waits. The artist's white lips curl into a sneer and he steps forward.

"One more thing."

The tips of the artist's fingers are pitch black. He reaches up, and the light falling from oblivion illuminates his skin. Those fingers, as black as the wailing tree rooted in the bloody water, run gently through Link's hair. The black paint covering his blond locks runs down his cheeks, sits on his lips. He wonders for a moment why his hair wasn't always so black and lovely.

"Now, just relax."

Link obeys and releases the tension in his muscles. And life suddenly becomes perfect. The artist reaches forward, makes one last adjustment, and then steps back to admire his work. Everything is so perfect.

"You're perfect."

Link stands, his hair black as tar and his bare skin tainted with blood, muscles relaxed and eyes closed, holding his sword up to his own neck.

"Absolutely perfect."

* * *

Link stared at his reflection in the waters of Lake Hylia. Mud fell from his hair in large clumps, and he was growing frustrated with the fact that his hair was still perfectly blond. The mud wasn't working. Nothing was working. And he didn't want to disappoint the artist.

* * *

He sat at the table beside Princess Zelda, as he always did. The food didn't taste like anything. Link had kept his promise—he had arrived back to the castle before dinner. But he had bathed in the lake beforehand, and she was glaring at him. He was soaking wet. After a few minutes of her clear animosity toward him, and after a few minutes of his clear indifference, she sighed and turned away. And then, beneath the table, she slipped out of her shoes and brushed his leg. He smiled to himself and returned her advances, and it was the first time in months that he found himself looking forward to that night.

* * *

"You're much more...aggressive than usual."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be. Just for the love of Din keep going.

* * *

They lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch their breath. As she wiped the sweat from her brow and ran her finger along his forearm, his eyes wandered. They fell upon the spot across the room where his sword sat. It was calling his name, and then his fingers began itching. It was the most persistent itch yet. Zelda turned onto her side and with her cold, salty lips, kissed his shoulder. Link touched his mouth to hers, clawed for her, pressed himself against her. He wondered if she could taste the blood on his tongue.

* * *

"I love you, Link."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I love you."

He never told her that he loved her back. He thought it was very unnecessary and very untrue.

* * *

Link wanted to make sure that she didn't scream. That would destroy the entire point.

At that moment, she was sitting on the bed, covering her tearstained face. She had started crying because Link hadn't said the words, "I love you." She was questioning everything. He could tell. But she was crying silently, and she was trying to hide the fact that she was upset with him. Because she thought that he was traumatized, she thought that he was going through a horrid time, she thought that he just needed time.

_Ha._

* * *

The itching was like a burning now. It was spreading through his entire body. It wasn't just his fingers anymore—his shoulders, his neck, his chest, his toes. Everything itched. He stumbled to where his sword lay and grasped it with both hands. The burning subsided a little bit, but not all the way. Zelda was staring at him with an expression of absolute melancholy. But she smiled anyway, and she asked him why he was reaching for his sword.

* * *

He stood like a king—he felt like a king. He stood like a king in the pool of her blood.

* * *

Link watched the rain fall against the window, so he opened it to feel the droplets against his skin. Then, so comfortable and serene and beautiful, he lifted the sword to his own neck.

_This is what the artist wanted,_ he thought. _This is how it's supposed to be._

"Yes, my muse. Yes."


End file.
